His muse
by FreyaWrackspurt
Summary: He was in trance, hanging on to her every word. If there was one thing he desired above all else it was power, and Walburga Black was power personified.


This story is inspired by a statement made in the _supercarlingsbrothers_ youtube video "Why are they called Death Eathers" and then went in its own direction from there on.

Disclaimer: This story is written for entertainment and everything derived from the Harry Potter franchise belongs to someone else. I make no money from this.

Warnings: This story is about Tom Riddle and Walburga Black so it contains murder and torture and implied child abuse. There is also some sexual content, but don't expect smut.

 _October 1938_

She was holding court again. Sitting in the centre of the Slytherin common room, surrounded by all the first year Slytherins, most of her fellow second years and even some of the older ones. Her hair was sparkling, her eyes shining and she was oozing with all the superiority that her birth gave her while speaking passionately about the rights and entitlement that came with being a witch or wizard.

He was in trance, hanging on to her every word. If there was one thing he desired above all else it was power, and Walburga Black was power personified.

Muggles, she said, were filthy disposable creatures who should know their rightful place as servants to their betters. Worst among them were the mudbloods, who were muggles that had stolen their magic from witches or wizards and hence turned them into squibs. The crime of stealing someone's magic was so foul that the only just punishment of being a mudblood was a slow and painful death.

Here she made a theatrical pause and proudly announced that her family held many heirlooms that had been cursed to carry out the deed, should a filthy mudblood attempt to steal it to use it for their own devious plans.

Squibs, she explained, were a problem as well. They were poor suffering souls who should be put out of their misery with a quick avada to the chest. Too bad the corrupt ministry had not only forbidden such mercy kills, but even gone so far as to name avada kedavra an unforgivable curse.

Purebloods were the most superior amongst wizardingkind. They were had the most powerful magic of all, and were therefore the natural rules of the world. Unless of course, they were blood traitors in which case they were almost as bad as mudbloods. Any pureblood who would dignify him or herself to fight for the protection of mudbloods or claim that they were our equals had committed treason to the wizarding world and hence deserved to be punished in a similar way as the mudbloods they loved so dearly.

Tom could only draw one conclusion. He must be of pureblood descendant. His magic was so powerful that nothing else made sense. Even as a first year, his magical abilities vastly surpassed that of many older students in the school. Tom had already learnt all the spells of his year and was quickly moving onto more advanced stuff, cutesy of the school library.

His mother was a muggle, this much was clear to Tom. Why else would she have allowed herself to die, leaving him at that horrible place? That led to the conclusion that, not only had he been right in assuming his father was a wizard, but his father must be a powerful wizard as he would be able to sire a son with as much power as Tom, despite his mother being a muggle.

Tom was repulsed by his father giving into his primary urges to an extent where he would impregnate a muggle.

As a young child, Tom had fantasied about his father. He would dream about a man who had not been tricked by his mother and had not known of Tom's existence, but upon learning of it would hurry to his son and free him of that horrible place.

Now, that scenario seemed less scenario. More likely, his father had been one of those irresponsible young wizards that Hogwarts were so full off, who had believed that bedding muggle women were excellent as they had no magical family who could lay fight on the behaves of their daughter's lost virtues. Disgusting!

The shame of having done so must have been so strong that his father had chosen to deny his son and let him live amongst filthy muggles, rather than raised him as a proper wizard.

Well, Tom mused, his father would pay.

 _November 1939_

The lights were dimmed in the corner of the library were Tom was sitting with his inner circle – the closest of his followers, as he liked to think of them. After only a little over a year at Hogwarts, Tom had become the leader of Slytherin house. He had discovered that he had a nack of charming people into letting him have his way.

The teachers, as well of most of the students, were of the impression that Tom was a polite, hardworking, kind young man and looked up to him. Only his inner circle was aware of his more dark side. None more so than Walburga, who was perched on the chair on his right side. Their combined effort in finding new ways to make the mudbloods of the school uncomfortable with no one being the wiser as to why cursed objects so often would find their way into the hands of those very mudbloods were inspiring.

Tom couldn't help feeling pride. It was true that Walburga had a natural cruelness about her that spoke to Tom, but her methods had been crude and unrefined. But now, under his guidance she was evolving and was started to gain finesse and style.

As a contrast, the topic at hand was leaving him thoroughly bored. His latest recruit, a second year named Avery was going on and on about how his family were related to Salazar Slytherin himself. Tom had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. It was a well-known fact that Slytherin had been a parselmouth and that that particular ability always was inherited.

Tom had been pleased when he had learned this particular fact during a lesson in care of magical creatures last year. The implications for his own part were significant of course. It meant that HE could potentially be the descendent of the finest of the four founders. A though most uplifting. Too bad being a parselmouth wasn't enough to prove his linage, or it could potentially have opened up a lot of doors to him.

If Avery really was a decedent from Slytherin, then he too should certainly be gifted with the rare ability to talk to snakes. Apparently Malfoy was in agreement as he chose to point out these facts to the four year younger boy, mocking him for his boisterous claims. Avery turned pink and mumbled something incoherently.

"Well, too bad you don't know where the chamber of secret is or you could prove yourself," Rosier mocked.

This got Tom's attention. Whatever this chamber of secrets was it could, by the sound of it, prove that someone was related to Salazar Slytherin. It might just be what Tom needed. He'd have to find out more about the chamber. Unfortunately, the conversation had gone on to taunt Avery for some squib relative of his and Tom wasn't dumb enough to ask. If there was one thing he had learnt about fitting in amongst purebloods; never ask them about anything that had to do with the magical community. That only proved to them that you were an outsider.

 _December 1942_

It was like music to his ears; The screams of the young muggle girl mixed with the cackling laughter of Walburga as she perfected her cruciatus curse. The girl had fought back for a long time, something that only served to fuel the fury of Walburga, who had intensified the frequency with which she was casting the spell. As the anger and attempts to hurt her captors turned into submission and the screams into anguished sobs and shrieks, Walburga's eye glared with glee.

It was a pity really; that she was going to have to marry her tiny obnoxious cousin in order to provide him with the next Black heir. She would have been a formidable subordinate on his rise to power. Nevertheless, he had decided that it was better to have her reproducing, and hence provide him with more followers. That her father had chosen the Black heir, Orion Black, as her future husband was excellent, as this meant Tom could be sure to secure future generations of the Blacks as his followers. Besides, Orion would be simple enough to control. True, he had a streak of stubbornness and defiance, but Tom had already put Walburga on the task of keeping the younger boy in line.

That did however not mean that he could not take advantage of her up until that moment. Walburga was power, and having her by his side transferred some of that power onto him in the eyes of both the girls that looked up to her and of the plenty boys that had attempted – and failed – at gaining her affection.

He stepped closer to her, snaking a hand around her waist. Her cackling stopped abruptly as her attention shifted from the girl on the ground to the Tom. Her breath became fast and uneven as he let his lips brush hers just briefly and Tom smirked.

Desire, he had learned, was an efficient means to control people, and Tom was not unaware of the effect he had on witches and some wizards as well. It was ridiculous really, what some people would do to just gain a token of his affection. He had used this to tie several of Hogwarts's students to him, by having them commit actions they never would have believed themselves capable of. Actions that later would leave them so repulsed and ashamed of themselves that they stayed loyal to him simply out of fear that he would reveal what they'd done. Once he'd gotten them to that spot, he didn't waste any more time on them as far as sexual pleasures went. Fear in general, and fear of exposure in particular, was an even stronger weapon against people than sex.

Walburga was different. When it came to murder, torture or a dissolute lifestyle however, the Blacks didn't seem to feel shame. No, with Walburga, he had to keep up the physical part of their relationship in order to keep her loyalty. Not that he minded, though. With her powerful magic and her cruelty, she was as close to an equal as he had managed to find, but still showed the appropriate level of submission when he required. She was special. She was inspiration.

His muse.

"Walburga," he breathed into her ear and she whimpered in return, "finish off you muggle and let's get out of here."

 _February 1943_

He had found them! The people who must be his family.

Following the line of Salazar Slytherin, Tom had deduced that his grandfather must be Marvolo Gaunt. As in Tom _Marvolo_ Riddle. Mrs Cole at the orphanage had always claimed that he had been named Marvolo after his grandfather. It was the only useful thing the woman ever had done for him and it meant that his mother must have been Merope Gaunt; a witch.

A witch who could have chosen to live for her son, but decided to abandon him!

Well, he couldn't take out revenge on her, but he could take it out on his father. The father who now had no excuse whatsoever of leaving his mother and him to their destiny.

However, his father had been hard to find. There were no traces that he was ever at Hogwarts. However, neither were there any traces of his mother. Tom was aware that some pureblood families chose home schooling, so he would simply have to search for his father in a different way, and he knew just where to begin. His grandfather would surely know.

 _May 1943_

Finally!

After years of searching for the chamber it was Walburga's comments about the snake decorations in girl's bathroom on the second floor that had tipped him off. It was genius really. No one would have believed that Slytherin would hide his entrance in a bathroom, let alone one for the female students.

Now, he was standing in the chamber of secrets and the proof of his lineage was slithering straight in front of him. He, Lord Voldemort, was the living heir of Salazar Slytherin, the greatest of Hogwarts's four founders.

He had changed his name after finding his family and coming to the conclusion that not only had his father hadn't left him in the care of muggles. He had done so despite his mother being a witch. Voldemort may have found it somewhat understandable that his father abandoned his mother when he believed her to be a muggle, but now, there were no excuses. His father was a scum and no way would Voldemort keep the name of the man who betrayed him to this extent.

 _August 1943_

The sun was particularly sunny as Voldemort walked the path that lead from the Gaunt shack to the Riddle mansion. He was grateful for the walk as it gave him the opportunity to think.

He had arrived in Little Hangleton, prepared to kill his father and, with the murder, begin his journey to immortality.

It was the opening of the chamber and the events that followed that had led him on this path. When he had opened the chamber of secrets and set his basilisk free on the mudbloods at the school, it had caused just the sort of response he had expected from the members his inner circle. Malfoy and Lestrange had been in awe. Rosier and Avery had even bowed before him. The only person who wasn't so easily impressed was Black.

Orion Black that was.

He had had the audacity to claim that this was proof of nothing, and regardless of his stand on mudbloods Tom would be a fool to harm them while at school. And then; he had dared call him Tom too! A name that was banned whenever it was only the inner circle present.

Oh how Voldemort despised that kid. It had been a mistake to let him into the inner circle. He did not belong there. In fact, Orion didn't even belong in Slytherin. With his recklessness he should have been a Gryffindor which, coming from the heir of Slytherin himself, was the greatest insult. Only mudbloods and blood traitors belonged in that house.

Orion had been punished for his behaviour, of course. Voldemort had had Walburga torture her future husband while the remaining members of his inner circle were watching his humiliation as Orion cried, screamed and wet himself. Once Orion was so exhausted that he no longer had the strength to scream, Voldemort had ended the section and dismissed everyone. Then, to illustrate his power further, he forcefully pulled Walburga towards him and fucked her in front the boy.

The message was clear. I can take all that is yours and the session had been enough of a reminder for Orion to keep his mouth shut while the basilisk roamed the school.

To Voldemort's immense frustration the beast failed to kill any of its intended victims at first. It was ironic really, that when it finally succeeded the victim had search out him and not the other way around. He was just starting to think that maybe the basilisk had gotten too old, as all it seemed to manage was to stun its victims when a mudblood girl walked out of one of the stalls in the bathroom that led to the chamber, obviously prepared to tell him off and instantly fell over at the gaze of the basilisk.

It was unfortunate that the event meant that Voldemort had to lock the basilisk up again. That he had been able to pin the crime on that oaf Hagrid was of course a bonus, but the real benefit had come from what he had felt the moment the mudblood died.

It had been a painful experience. Like he was tearing his very essence. His soul.

Voldemort knew it wasn't because he felt any regret or remorse. No, this was something else. Something magical. Something powerful.

When the castle had emptied for the summer holidays, Voldemort had snuck into the restricted section of the library. Now that the beast and the person responsible for keeping it was believed to have been caught, headmaster Dippet had agreed to let Voldemort stay under the summer.

It had only taken him a couple of days to find a book that let him know what had happened. Murder briefly caused the soul to split into two parts. What was more interesting though was that the book also spoke of how a wizard named Herbert the foul once used this very act to create something called a horcrux. The knowledge of what a Horcrux was and what it did sparked a desire in Voldemort. A desire to succeed where his mother had failed. To become immortal.

He had known just what to use as well. His diary. The one where he had recorded all his notes that had led to finding the chamber of secrets and controlling the basilisk. The proof of his proud lineage.

He also known just which murder he would use to create it. His father. The man whom had abandoned him and left him to be raised by filthy muggles.

The ritual of preparing both the diary and himself in order to create a horcrux had been a fascinating process, albeit both exhausting and nearly drained him of his magic. At first, Voldemort had been worried that he had made a terrible mistake, but little by little his magic had returned to him and after almost two full month his magic was back to full strength and he knew he was ready to create the horcrux.

Now, all he had to do was to find this Tom who got his mother pregnant and then abandoned his unborn son. An act that was even more repulsive to Voldemort now that he was aware that his mother was a pureblood. He longed to end the man's miserable life and he had known just where to start searching. His grandfather's house in Little Hangleton.

However, as he had reached the Gaunt residence, which could hardly be described as something more than a shack he had been surprised to find out that not only had he been wrong about his mother being a muggle, but his father was a muggle. A muggle that had apparently left his mother and come back to claim she had put him under some spell and tricked him into marrying.

Morfin had been more than willing to let this be known in between his rant about what a whore and a blood traitor Merope had been and how she got what she deserved ones Voldemort had let on the secret of whom he was.

From his uncle's rants, he had gathered as much as his mother giving into her notion that she was in love and had probably bewitched his Tom Riddle to make him elope with her.

Love, this thing that Dumbledore was constantly babbling about. It was disgusting really, what the notion of love could do to people. It was a weakness, and his own mother it would seem had succumbed to that weakness.

Voldemort agreed thoroughly with his uncle's assessment of his mother. Still, that didn't change his opinion that his uncle should have searched him out and taken him away from the orphanage. His uncle needed to pay too, and Voldemort knew just the right punishment. His uncle had left him locked up in a disgusting place; it was only fair that he returned the favour. Therefore, Morfin Gaunt was now lying on the floor of his dirty home, stunned and obliviated, awaiting the false memories Voldemort was planning to provide him with.

Armed with Morfin's wand in one hand, and his diary in the other, Voldemort finally reached the Riddle house.

 _July 1945_

The utter look of horror on the woman's face as she realised what was about to happen to her was precious, even more so than when he had killed those pathetic Riddles. His hatred towards this woman was stronger, more forceful and better defined.

All those moments during his childhood when she had belittled him or favoured other children above him; all those moments made her fear so much sweeter.

He relished the pain that came with his soul tearing as he uttered the words of the killing curse.

It had been Walburga who had made him see the need for more horcruxes. Not that she was aware of that of course, but still, indirectly.

It was shortly into the term of his sixth year and they had been lying on his bed, discussing different types of wards, more specifically discussing how to circumvent such wards.

 _"Those people, believing that there is one ward strong enough to keep people out. Fools," she had spat out when the ministry had announced that they would now go over to use the latest type of ward to protect important members of the Wizengamot. "If something is important you protect it multiple times. My father was furious when he heard about this."_

 _Something important should be protected multiple times. His life was the most important thing to him. Yet he only had one horcrux. Granted, it in itself was currently hidden and under multiple protective spells, but it couldn't stay that way. Once he had graduated it needed to find its way back to the school. He was planning to have it placed in the hands of an unsuspecting student such that the school could once and for all be ridded of the mudblood scums._

 _"Seven," Walburga continued, "that's what my father said. One should always have seven layers of protection."_

 _That made sense. Seven was the strongest magical number. A seven part soul. Now that would be something._

 _His plans for the mudbloods at Hogwarts would have to wait. First he needed to secure that his life was as safe as it could be._

Always Walburga, he mused. It was she who had taught him of the magical community, she who had led him to the chamber of secrets, and now, it was she who had sown the seed of his seven part soul.

The lifeless body of Mrs Cole, matron of Wool's Orphanage was before him, a look of utter terror resting upon her face, as Voldemort took out the ring; the ring which he had taken from his uncle before planting the memories that would lead to a lifetime sentence in Azkaban. Casting the spell which sealed his soul inside it was a trivial matter compared to the dark magic involved in preparing the item.

Once the spell was cast, Voldemort vanished the body of his old caretaker. He had let the Riddle's be found as a way to humiliate them even further, but he couldn't allow too many people that could be tied to him show up dead. It might wake suspicions; or rather it might give the one man who was suspicious of him fuel to investigate further.

Before leaving the orphanage, Voldemort therefore planted a couple of false memories within the personnel that made them believe that Mrs Cole had met a foreign man and ran away with him.

Now, all that remained was to take the ring and hide it somewhere safe before he left to search for more vessels.

 _November 1959_

He eyed the little baby with jet black hair for any traces of resemblance to himself, but no. There could be no doubt that this baby was sired by Orion. He didn't care either way, really. The need of procreation was for the mortal, not for someone as important as him. However, he was somewhat pleased that the baby was Orion's, as that allowed him to fuel his hatred for the man.

Giving birth to the Black heir had taken its toll on Walburga who was lying in the bed across the room, weakened and pale. Orion had done this to her, and he needed to be punished.

"You should imperious him."

"Who do you mean, my Lord?"

"Your husband. He will be bad influence on the child."

"I have Orion under control."

"I doubt that. With his boastfulness and recklessness, I wouldn't be surprised if that child ended up in Gryffindor."

"Never!" her voice was hard despite her difficulty to talk.

"Then do as I say! Imperious your husband and be done with it."

"As you command, my Lord."

He left the room satisfied. To live the rest of his life under the imperious, that would be a fitting punishment for a man who were so keen to air his opinions. The man who had dared call him by his hated father's name. The man who had caused pain to _his_ muse.

The rage that filled Voldemort at the last statement was stronger than anything he had ever felt before and he felt a pang of something. Worry. Why was he so concerned about Walburga's wellbeing? Had he grown to care for her more than he should?

He couldn't allow her to become a weakness. Not like his foolish mother had allowed his father to become hers. Perhaps, Voldemort thought, it was finally time to go searching for the next object. The one he knew rested somewhere in the forests of Albania. He already had heirlooms from two of the founders. Now, it was time to find a third.

Some distance to Walburga would do him good.

 _September 1971_

Walburga's shame was beyond measures. A Gryffindor! How dare that child defy his mother like this. How dare he bring this upon his family?

He had even gone so far as to write her with pride. The nerve!

The worst of it was that Walburga secretly knew she was partially to blame. The Dark Lord had been specific in his instructions. Keep Orion under the imperious curse. But Walburga had been weak.

Once she had recovered from her childbirth she believed her Lord and love would return to her, but he had not. When she heard that he had left the country, she relaxed. Of course, the Dark Lord had more important things to see to than his mistress. She wasn't naïve. She knew that she was as important to him as he was to her. But she was his favourite and had always been so.

Yet, after two years of his absence with still no word from Lord Voldemort, she had started to feel worried. Had he replaced her? Had she displeased him somehow? He never had marked her as he had many others. She always believed this to be because she was special to him, not just one of his followers, but his queen. In secret, she had waited for him to give her the order that would free her from her marriage and allow her to become his in every way possible. At first she thought that Sirius's birth would be the event that would bring the order. Then, when he left just after Sirius was born, she assumed that he wanted her to have one more son. An heir and a spare. Two loyal followers from the Nobel and most ancient house of Black. But when Regulus was born, and there still was no word from him, her beliefs started to falter.

Trapped in the house and surrounded by only a two year old, a baby and her imperioused husband (Walburga did not count house elfs) she was starting to feel lonely. So she had freed Orion, and for a while, her life had been better. Orion was to scared to defy her openly, and they had a somewhat tolerable marriage for about a year.

Her great mistake had been that she'd turned too much of her attention to baby Regulus who was such a calm and sweet child, while leaving the care of the louder and older Sirius to Orion. Once she realised that Orion was feeding and supporting Sirius's defiant streak, now that his mind was no longer under her control, it had been too late. The boy was ruined and no amount of discipline had helped. Not even that she'd put Orion back under the curse and turned him back into the stern disciplinary father that he had been during Sirius's first years had the desired effect.

But now, the horrible thing had happened. Sirius had become a Gryffindor – just like the Dark Lord predicted, and all this because she didn't follow orders. What was she going to do?

When he had returned to Britain without searching her out, Walburga had been certain that she must have somehow displeased the Dark Lord. Her hopes had been put in Sirius. Once he joined the Dark Lord as a loyal follower, surely whatever her sins were would be forgiven, and the Dark Lord would invite her back to her rightful place – by his side.

She would simply have to be more firm in her discipline of Sirius. She smiled as she headed for the library to look up ways to torture without leaving trace.

 _October 1973_

The dinner party at the Lestrange was turning into a pleasant evening for Voldemort. Lestrange's young wife Bellatrix was showing great potential. She had captured a dozen of muggles and even two mudbloods to serve as the evening's entertainment.

The guest would take turns in torturing the muggles, showing off their latest skills, but for the finally, Bellatrix herself took over and brought forth the two mudbloods. The way she slowly broke them, layer by layer, until nothing remained of the people they had been was truly magnificent.

It was to be expected of course. She was, after all, Walburga's niece.

Walburga herself was at the dinner as well. He had sensed her nervousness when he greeted her and smiled. Good! He wanted her nervous. He wanted her uncertain.

He had made a mistake by allowing her too much influence over him and it had been the right decision to distance himself. His fear that he had grown to care for her had not been unfounded, that much he could admit to himself – although he would never let anyone else in on it. During his first year abroad, she constantly entered his mind and he had to force himself to repress it.

The creation of his latest horcruxes had helped. Every time he created one it was as if his emotions became a bit duller, allowing his mind a freer range. As of today he had four horcruxes. The Ring was safe where he had hidden it in Little Hangleton and he had replaced the Diary with Ravenclaw's Diadem in the hiding spot at Hogwarts when he went to see Dumbledore.

The Diary was now safely tucked away in a cave that held special meaning to him and the fourth horcrux, the cup of Hufflepuff, was currently to be found on his person. He wanted it at Gringotts. He had originally planned to assign this task to Lestrange, but after having witnessed Mrs Lestrange's hand with the mudbloods and seen the respect she, despite her young age, commanded with his Death Eaters, he had decided to revise that plan.

He walked swiftly towards Bellatrix, noticing Walburga stiffening out of the corner of he's eyes. Again, something he was pleased to see. He swiftly decided to visit his muse later that night, now that he had made sure they both knew she wasn't important to him anymore, there was nothing to say that he couldn't enjoy her once again.

"Mrs Lestrange," he said, offering Bellatrix his hand, "may I request a conversation with you, in _private."_

He added emphasis on the last word purely for Walburga's sake and judging by the look of utter hatred on her face as Bellatrix took his hand and batted her eye, it had the intended effect.

"I'd be honoured, my Lord," Bellatrix said and then, before she led him out of the room added, "And please, call me Bella."

 _December 1975_

He was furious!

She had failed him. He had seen it all in her head when that retched brat refused him. Despite his explicit orders, she had released Orion from the imperious.

What worse was, he couldn't force himself to punish her. Not when she was standing there, struck by panic and fear. It was such a beautiful sight. Too beautiful to destroy. It would seem that his affection for the woman had not left.

He cursed his own weakness. He needed to punish her. He needed to make her suffer. Well, he promised himself, he would find a way, and until that the very least he could do was to have her torture her own son to death. That would be an okay punishment. At least until he could find a better way.

"Walburga," his voice was cold and she went even paler as she forced herself to meet his eyes.

"Yes my Lord?"

"It seems your son has become a blood traitor. See to it that he is dealt with appropriately."

Walburga swallowed. She had promised him repeatedly that Sirius would be ready and knew that this was a failure of epic proportions on her part. She bowed her head in obedience "Yes my Lord."

 _July 1979_

He had planned this murder ever since Sirius managed to escape.

He had hoped that Walburga would be the person with whom he would create his fifth horcrux. Unfortunately, he still couldn't manage to physically harm her. Despite having distanced himself from her yet again, he still could not do it. He had tried, but every time he attempted to cast a curse her way, he would stop himself. Therefore, he had finally settled to take out his revenge in a different way.

As he saw it there were two people responsible for the boy's defiance. Walburga and Orion.

So instead of Walburga paying with dead, he would let Orion do that honours. Walburga, would instead pay with loneliness.

He asked her to remove the imperious from her husband. He wanted Orion to know the full impact of what was going to happen. He then told Walburga to leave them be. She would soon realise the impact of her punishment. He was going to leave her all alone, not even with a servant to tend to her needs. He had already, unknown to Walburga, cast the spell that forced her to remain in her house and soon he would strip her of the remaining members of her family. After Orion's funeral, he was planning to forbid Regulus from having any contact with Walburga. Then he would create a public scandal, which would keep away her remaining family and friends. Walburga Black would live her remaining days alone, locked up and in disgrace.

As Orion's body fell towards the floor, Voldemort pulled out the locket and cast the spell to seal his soul inside of it. Soon, he would have his seven part soul. Soon he could rerelease his basilisk at Hogwarts, forcing Dumbledore from the school while also ridding it from mudbloods.

He pressed his wand towards the mark on his arm and uttered a spell. The masked Death Eater appeared.

"Yes my Lord?"

"Regulus, I need you to fetch me your elf."

 **A/N:** So that's it. I know that I'm not using the victims that are generally believed to be connected to the different horcruxes, but I like this way better. Also, I couldn't really find any evidence of these victims in canon (that's not saying that there may not be some and I've simply missed it). Please leave a review and tell me what you think. Also, let me know if I've made any mistakes, English is not my first language and I rely heavily on word to correct my spelling and grammar mistakes.


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